


Be a Man

by chiarascura



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, cross-dressing, dragon age: mulan, sexually confused cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5460542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarascura/pseuds/chiarascura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How had he missed it?</p>
<p>Looking back, it seemed obvious to Cullen. His— <i>Her</i> reluctance to interact with the recruits, her awkward interactions with him, every friendly clap on the shoulder met with a cringe and pulling away quickly. He had attributed it to social shyness, but in hindsight maybe she just didn’t want to get caught.</p>
<p>He shouldn’t have felt quite as relieved as he did. For the Maker’s sake, Haven had just been completely demolished by their own hand to escape Corypheus, and all Cullen could think about was Eli— no, <i>Evelyn</i>— and her deception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From the Dragon Age Kink Meme
> 
> DA:I Mulan style! Cullen/F!inquisitor
> 
> [link](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13890.html?thread=56882242#t56882242)

How had he missed it?  
  
Looking back, it seemed obvious to Cullen. His— _Her_ reluctance to interact with the recruits, her awkward interactions with him, every friendly clap on the shoulder met with a cringe and pulling away quickly. He had attributed it to social shyness, but in hindsight maybe she just didn’t want to get caught.  
  
He shouldn’t have felt quite as relieved as he did. For the Maker’s sake, Haven had just been completely demolished by their own hand to escape Corypheus, and all Cullen could think about was Eli— no, _Evelyn_ — and her deception.  
  
He looked down at her small, fragile body looking pale lying on the white cot in the healer’s tent. Now that he knew she was a woman, and not a man as she pretended, it seemed unmistakeable. She had never carried herself like other soldiers did, wearing the plate mail like it was a second skin. He wouldn’t have described her as awkward or gawky, but the armor never sat quite right on her frame, probably because it was created for a man with a flatter chest and narrower hips. The short dark hair and lean musculature were unremarkable in a soldier, but the way her backside curved appealingly and the bow of her plush lips— Cullen stopped that thought before it could go any further.  
  
When she first appeared to close the rift at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Cullen had fallen for her ruse with no thought at all. He looked no further than the short-cropped hair and the enormous greatsword she wielded, and assumed that the prisoner had arrived to fix the mess he had caused. That may be a thought to consider later, that the Commander of the Inquisition Army hadn’t examined the newcomer very closely. In the war room, the new Herald of Andraste introduced himself—herself?— as Eli, and gender did not cross Cullen’s mind again for a good while.  
  
As they began working more closely together to prepare for closing the rift for good, Cullen interacted with him more and more, training the troops or making plans alongside Leliana and Josephine. Then, gender came to mind more often as his eyes tracked the Herald’s shapely backside in a way he had only done with a handful of women, or when he became distracted by the length of Eli’s eyelashes and how they framed his deep brown eyes. Cullen usually had to excuse himself and spar with a practice dummy to excise those inappropriate, and frankly out of character, thoughts of his.  
  
Some things had thoroughly confused Cullen—although in hindsight, they made more sense.  
  
One afternoon, he had returned from sending letters to soldiers in the field to find Eli and the new Qunari mercenary captain sparring in the makeshift ring outside the gate. They must have been at it for some time, as both men were sweating and breathing heavily. The Iron Bull had no shirt, as Cullen learned was customary, and his Chargers stood around clearly betting on the outcome. Eli wore less than his usual enveloping armor, dressed in a large tunic and loose breeches, clearly sweating through both garments despite the chill from the mountains around them.  
  
The Bull grunted before lunging at Eli again, whose determined look sent a jolt through Cullen and made him swallow nervously. The Herald’s skin glistened with perspiration, and the flush in his cheeks from the exertion made him look… something. Cullen’s mind skirted from that thought, and he focused on the mechanics of their swordwork.  
  
The two warriors continued to thrust and lunge and strike with alacrity, and Cullen got caught up in the fervor. The crowd ate up the show, cheering and wagering and ignoring Cullen’s conflicted thoughts from where he stood a few meters away. As he watched, he started to analyze Eli’s fighting style but found it more difficult than expected.  
  
Eli was clearly trained well, as he had good form and knowledge of basic tactics. However, the way he angled his body, maintaining too great a distance from the Bull and opening himself to unnecessary blows, confused Cullen. Eli’s dark hair fell into his eyes more than once, and Cullen felt a strange tug in his belly.  
  
When the Bull pinned Eli to the ground making the Herald yield, Cullen found his thoughts drifting towards how Eli would feel pinned underneath him, writhing and squirming. Cullen felt a jerk in his midriff that he attributed to admiring another warrior, and nothing else. It was definitely not the same feeling he had around attractive women he found intimidating. He turned to walk back through the gates into Haven, leaving the sparring session and suddenly remembering another letter he had not sent yet.  
  
A few nights later as he left the Chantry after evening prayers, he found himself drawn to the Singing Maiden, where he could hear a raucous crowd enjoying the evening, for a drink. He told himself it was to keep an eye on his soldiers, to stay available and relatable to them, but found himself inevitably dragged into the orbit of the Herald and his companions. Varric, the dwarf he recognized as a friend of the Champion of Kirkwall, held court at one of the larger tables and shuffled a deck of cards between his fingers. Eli sat to his left and looked up at Cullen with slightly glassy eyes.  
  
“About time you showed up, Curly. We hardly ever see you relax.” Varric’s amused voice made Cullen narrow his eyes, waiting for the the other shoe to drop. “It’s about time you left the training yard and came to join us.” Cullen sat in an empty chair next to Eli who pushed a full mug towards him.  
  
The irreverent elf, the one Eli found in Orlais who seemed to stir up trouble everywhere she went, laughed from her seat at the table. “Guess he’s done playing with his _sword_ ,” she whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, and Cullen felt himself flush as some of the assembled group snickered.  
  
“Leave him alone,” Eli laughed. He leaned on Cullen’s shoulder as he gestured with his own tankard. His words started to slur, and Cullen wondered what time the group began drinking this evening. “Cullen is a _wonderful_ Commander and I’m sure he can’t help it if the recruits run him ragged.” Eli looked up at Cullen with an adoring gaze and Cullen felt his own face flush again at the praise. And the heat. He flushed because of the heat in the tavern, and certainly not because the Herald looked at him like he hung the moon. The moment between them stretched out, Cullen lost himself in the dark, dilated pupils and the way Eli bit his lip as he gazed at Cullen.  
  
The company moved on to the next hand of cards, but Cullen found himself thinking about the moment between the Herald and himself, running the memory over in his mind until it was cemented and inextricable from his thoughts. The intense gaze, the emotion he couldn’t put a name to, the feeling it evoked in his own chest.  
  
He had only been affected by a look like that once before, when he was so much younger and infatuated with a woman mage in Kinloch Hold. He had never found himself thinking about another man like this and it concerned him. Cullen thought he knew himself but… maybe not as well as he had hoped.  
  
A hundred moments like that, where the Herald looked too long and Cullen found himself looking back, unsure of the feelings in his chest, trying to crush them down and focus on his job rather than the Herald. When Corypheus attacked Haven, it became much easier to ignore his uncomfortable and unexamined feelings with the much more immediate danger of death on their doorstep.  
  
As Corypheus and his army and his Maker-damned _archdemon_ rained destruction upon them, Cullen had no time to do anything but survive.  
  
They stood in the chantry, Eli and Cullen and a few others, after the mage came to warn them and the priest remembered the secret passage out to safety. Eli thought for a moment about the options before him, before finally concluding that he had to set off the trebuchets himself, burying the town but saving the rest of the Inquisition. It was a suicide mission; everyone knew it but no one said it out loud. Cullen discovered a pain just underneath his ribs, like he had been sliced deep without realizing it, like he would bleed out here in this Chantry as Eli died for them.  
  
“Andraste preserve you,” Cullen said. Eli nodded, his eyes roving over Cullen’s face as if memorizing it. Eli’s mouth opened, preparing to say something, and Cullen found himself holding his own breath waiting.  
  
He didn’t want this to be the end. Not for the Inquisition, not for the Herald, not for anything. Eli’s expression showed the same anguish he felt, and his brown eyes glittered in the low light from the candles around them. Cullen’s fists clenched with the force of keeping his arms at his sides, and not reaching out to touch Eli, to have one more memory before they all might die.  
  
“Be safe,” Eli had whispered, taking one more moment to look at Cullen. Cullen raised his hand in goodbye, and Eli dashed out the door with his companions.  
  
The march through the snow had been hellish, and Cullen couldn’t stop thinking, wondering, worrying about Eli. Had he made it out? Did he kill Corypheus? Had the dragon burnt him to ashes and ruined their best chance of survival? Would Cullen never see him again?  
  
Even after making it to the camp, only stopping when Leliana and Cassandra noted the exhaustion in the survivors and forcing the issue where Cullen wanted to continue, Cullen found himself pacing with restless energy. By all rights, he should be exhausted after fighting off the invaders, but Cullen couldn’t get his mind to calm. It raced in circles that began and ended with Eli.  
  
After what felt like hours, a scout sighted the Herald trudging through the snow towards the camp and raised the alarm. Cullen rushed out to meet him, not even grabbing his heavy cloak before sprinting to where the scout indicated.  
  
Eli looked half-dead and Cullen felt his heart stop in his chest. He was sprawled face-down in the snow, and didn’t even respond when Cullen picked him up to carry him back to camp. Cullen’s fingers pressed to his pulse point and felt a faint heartbeat, proving that he lived, but it was not enough to quell the anxiety that had grown for hours in Cullen’s chest.  
  
As Cullen laid him down in the healer’s tent, Eli’s eyelids fluttered and his hands gripped Cullen’s coat weakly.  
  
“Cullen,” his voice was breathy and weak, and Cullen’s chest tightened.  
  
“I’m here,” Cullen responded as he gripped Eli’s hand and squeezed a confirmation.  
  
“I’m glad it’s you.” Eli’s grip loosened and his eyes shut, and Cullen swallowed nervously.  
  
The healer shooed him out of the tent, but Cullen continued his vigil pacing outside, waiting for news. He was slightly confused when the healer called Leliana to come in. His anxiety grew when Cassandra was called in with no word for him, then finally his ire raised as they called for Josephine as well.  
  
After a too-long moment of silence, he threw open the flaps of the tent. “What is so important that you all would be in here without me?” All of the whispering women turned to look at him in unison, with varying degrees of confusion, shock and worry. He could see Eli lying unconscious on the cot behind them, looking worryingly pale and breathing far too shallowly for his liking. Before he could see much more than the Herald’s face, he was shooed out of the tent by Leliana.  
  
She had broken the news to him, that the healer found… that Eli was not who they thought.  
  
Cullen continued to pace outside the tent, as Eli— as the Herald was still unconscious and unwell. He tried to quiet his thoughts but had no luck. Eventually he gave up and went to Mother Giselle to pray with her in an attempt to silence the chaos inside his mind.  
  
After several hours, the healer declared that the Herald would live, but needed rest. Cullen was allowed inside the tent to sit with her, and he did. He knelt in prayer beside her before restlessness brought him to his feet. The Herald slept on, covered by several blankets, looking peaceful and less sickly than before. Where the covers slipped, Cullen could see the Herald’s bare shoulders, her collarbones that stood out on her thin frame, her chest tightly wrapped flat with bandages, and he averted his eyes. Pieces of the puzzle began slotting into place. The way her armor fit badly, the distance she kept from everyone, no one ever seeing her out of uniform.  
  
Eventually, the Herald woke. Cullen stood at her bedside, arms crossed and thankfully no longer pacing, and watched her slow rise to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered under her eyelids, her fingers and legs started squirming tentatively, her face twisted into a grimace as she felt the wounds inflicted by the battle and the trek through the mountains.  
  
She blinked a few times to adjust to the low candlelight before she saw him. Her eyes widened and she swallowed nervously before looking down and realizing she was only covered by a few blankets in nothing more than her breastband. Her arms gathered the sheets and pulled them up to her neck, covering all of herself except her hands and her face. Cullen dutifully kept his eyes from wandering any lower, and shamed himself silently for his lapse as she slept.  
  
They stared at each other unspeaking for a few moments. Eli— The Herald’s face grew steadily redder and her expression more worried, and Cullen tried to remain stoic and unswayed. Her fear made his stomach twist, but the anger at her betrayal kept him from comforting her.  
  
“It is good to see you still live, Herald.” Cullen’s voice sounded stony to his own ears and Eli’s wince at the use of her moniker gave him a small petty thrill. “Is Eli your real name?”  
  
The woman shook her head. “No,” she whispered.  
  
After a moment of silence, Cullen couldn’t help prompting her. “Well, what is it? Is it another secret, one of Maker only knows how many you’ve been keeping?”  
  
Her throat jumped and her eyes darted around the room, looking for escape. After determining there was no escape from Cullen’s anger, her face crumpled and her body slumped back into the pillows.  
  
“Evelyn,” she breathed. “My name is Evelyn.”  
  
Cullen nodded. _Evelyn_. That would take some getting used to.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes stuck to the sheets where her fingers drew patterns. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. My brother Simon was supposed to come to the Conclave, but he was too ill. We couldn’t let news leak of the heir’s inability to perform his duties to the Chantry. Nobles, you know, in Ostwick can be cutthroat. And when I showed up as myself in his place, the Templars scorned me for being a weak woman.” She sneered and mimicked their pretension. “‘Can you even lift a sword? A weak woman like you?’ So, I took things into my own hands.”  
  
_Into her own hands_ must have meant _dressing as a man for months on end_.  
  
“I didn’t want to lie to you.” A flush rose in her face and she fidgeted, making something heat inside him. “By the time the Conclave happened… and then I was the Herald… and it was just too late.” She turned her head away from him and her hands stilled. “I shouldn’t be here. If you want me to leave the Inquisition, I’ll understand.”  
  
Cullen inspected her silently. Her remorse was visible in every nervous twitch of her fingers, the downcast look in her eye, the guilty avoidance of his gaze. She was a more than competent warrior, and her willingness to sacrifice herself to Corypheus for the people was admirable. Cullen couldn’t make her leave the Inquisition, but he still felt a pain in his chest when he thought of how she lied for so long.  
  
“You are an asset to this Inquisition, Evelyn.” Cullen uncrossed his arms and folded them behind his back, standing at attention. “I cannot in good conscience ask you to leave when we need you to help fight Corypheus.”  
  
Evelyn finally looked up at him, and her brown eyes had a sheen of moisture that betrayed her emotions. She looked hopeful and disbelieving and longing, and Cullen quashed the feelings that her dark eyes evoked, the feelings he had avoided for so long that maybe…  
  
He kept his eyes on her face, not on her bare shoulders where the blanket slipped or the soft movements in her throat or the flat space where he thought her breasts would be.  
  
“I… understand the reasons behind your deception, but…” _I cannot forgive you_. He did not say the words, but she heard them all the same. She nodded and dropped her gaze again.  
  
“Thank you.” Her fingers twisted in the sheets again. “For what it’s worth, I hated lying to you the most out of everyone.” She pulled the sheet up to cover almost all of her face and rolled over, effectively dismissing him.  
  
Something was caught in Cullen’s chest as he left the tent, something hot and painful and unrecognizable. He moved to sit by the main campfire and stared into the flames, willing his mind to stop racing.    
  



	2. Chapter 2

Secrets in a camp like the Inquisition’s didn’t last long. The news about Evelyn’s revelation spread like wildfire and Cullen couldn’t turn anywhere without hearing about how the Herald, now the Inquisitor, was actually a _woman_.   
  
On the long walk through the Frostbacks to the castle at Skyhold, Cullen found himself gritting his teeth and trying to escape the inevitable conversations about the Herald. Not only were there the regular rumors regarding her assistance from Andraste Herself, but now her miraculous sex change set off another round of whispers and furtive glances.   
  
Cullen hated all of it. The snide looks, the murmured conversations, all the people pretending not to be talking about Evelyn when she was _right there_. It didn’t help that this was the one subject he wanted to avoid, the one topic he didn’t want to examine too closely.   
  
Evelyn’s companions’ reactions were about as expected. Cassandra was flabbergasted, and began questioning Evelyn as soon as the healer deemed her ready to travel.   
  
Varric immediately started working on a story based on the Herald’s courageous rescue of her family and the world, hiding her true nature to sacrifice herself. Cassandra seemed slightly too interested in this development.  
  
Bull was unsurprised, possibly because his own Lieutenant used some of the same physical manipulations to maintain a masculine appearance. Cullen wondered if his Ben-Hassrath training gave him an awareness of the Herald’s gender on top of that.  
  
Sera started telling dirty jokes that made Cullen uncomfortable, which was honestly not an unusual feeling when in the elf’s company.  
  
Mostly all of her friends were surprised, but no one seemed to hold a grudge.   
  
Except him.  
  
Maker’s breath, he just couldn’t bring himself to move on. He knew it was petty and childish. The danger she placed herself in to make the sacrifice was more than enough reason to hide her identity, and Cullen couldn’t fault her for trying to protect her family. The Maker only knows what Cullen would do in a similar situation to save his own siblings.   
  
Somehow, the shock of the realization just wouldn’t leave. The hurt in his chest at the lack of trust pricked his heart every time he saw the Inquisitor in the new clothes that fitted her shapely hips, her long muscular legs, the swell of her breasts.    
  
Interactions in the war room were unbearable, and Cullen breathed slightly easier every time Evelyn went out on missions. Whenever they were in the same room together, Cullen was hyperaware of her every action. Nothing she did was particularly feminine, but now that Cullen knew she was a woman every motion held a deeper weight. The way she brushed her short hair out of her eyes, biting her thumbnail as she thought over a decision, clenching her fists to temper her rage at an injustice. All were the same gestures she had used before, and Cullen had been keenly aware then as well.   
  
He noticed her own study of him and wondered what she saw; if it was any different than before he knew. She always averted her eyes whenever he caught her looking, and he did the same when she glanced up to catch his eyes.  
  
The day they decided to mount an attack on Adamant fortress, the atmosphere in the war room was tense. Cullen grasped the hilt of his sword to bolster his strength as he outlined the siege possibilities, and Evelyn considered each option carefully. Her eyebrows came together in a furrowed line, and Cullen admired her dedication to preserving life in such a difficult situation.  
  
“Thank you all. Cullen, if I could have a word?” Leliana and Josephine shot him looks that he pointedly avoided, Josephine’s questioning and Leliana’s slyer than he felt comfortable with.   
  
He nodded and remained still, watching her across the table. “Of course, Inquisitor. How may I serve?”   
  
Evelyn’s hair had grown longer in the months they spent at Skyhold, the tips just brushing her shoulders, and Cullen resisted the urge to run his fingers through it. He wondered if it was silky and fine or coarse and thick. He clenched his fist around his sword pommel and gritted his teeth against the reaction.  
  
“I wanted to…” She wouldn’t meet his eye, and anxiety lanced through his chest. She cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you. For all you’ve done for the Inquisition.” Evelyn’s eyes  glinted in the candlelight as she looked up into his face. “I don’t know if I’ve told you how much I appreciate your work.”  
  
Cullen blinked. “I, er, thank you. Inquisitor.” He felt heat creeping up his neck at the awkward praise.  
  
Evelyn bit her lower lip, drawing it into her mouth. A different kind of heat bloomed in Cullen’s chest at the motion and he looked down at the war table. “I know things have been… difficult between us. Since… since we came to Skyhold.”   
  
He paused for a beat, then spoke slowly. “It has been an honor to work with you.” He looked up into her eyes and saw her cheeks turn bright red. “You have been an admirable leader.”   
  
Her jaw clenched and her nostrils flared as she took in a deep breath. “Thank you, Cullen. I…” She paused. “I’m sorry, again. For lying. Before. About, about who I was. Am.” Her jagged speech was so unlike her usual smooth and persuasive tone, and Cullen felt uneasy at the change.   
  
Cullen nodded.   
  
Silence stretched out between them.  
  
“If that’s all, Inquisitor…” Cullen didn’t want to leave, he wanted to be near her constantly, but felt entirely too awkward and didn’t know how he would act in her prolonged company.  
  
“Of course. Please.” She smiled at him and electricity raced down his spine. Evelyn walked out of the room and Cullen felt like all the air was sucked out after her.   
  
—  
  
The siege at Adamant went about as planned, until the Inquisitor disappeared.   
  
Cullen stood on the battlements, watching the siege machines batter the walls and the troops fight the Grey Wardens. He kept an eye on the Inquisitor and her companions while he could, but the chaos made it impossible after the first few moments.   
  
As the Archdemon give a terrifying howl, he turned to look toward the sound. Green light filled the sky and an unearthly ripping noise drowned out the sounds of battle.   
  
Minutes later, a scout ran up. “Commander! The Inquisitor disappeared!”  
  
Cullen’s blood ran cold. Every worst case scenario raced through his head. “Explain.” The soldier quailed under the Commander’s glare, but did his best.   
   
No one knew what exactly happened, but from the various reports of his soldiers and Leliana’s scouts, it was assumed that the Inquisitor tore apart the Veil and disappeared.   
  
Cullen accepted the information without thinking too deeply about it. He needed to focus on subduing the fortress, and it took enough attention to keep his thoughts from straying too much.  
  
The Grey Wardens quickly capitulated after their Commander was found dead where the Inquisitor vanished. Cullen pressed on, organizing his own troops, rounding up the remaining Wardens.   
  
He couldn’t think about the Inquisitor. If Evelyn was dead…   
  
After an hour, the most pressing issues had been dealt with and all talk focused on the Inquisitor. Cleanup required less direction from him, and he had little else to distract him from the horrible possibility —inevitability?— of the Inquisitor’s death.   
  
If she had ripped apart the Veil, she must have gone into the Fade. How could anyone survive that? His hope slowly drained away as time stretched on with no trace to be found of her or any companions.  
  
Cassandra stood at his shoulder. “What will we do?” she asked quietly.  
  
Cullen shook his head, unable to vocalize his increasingly morbid thoughts. The thought of the Inquisition without Evelyn broke his heart. The idea that he could never tell her… Cullen turned away from Cassandra, ignoring the despair squeezing his chest.   
  
All of their meetings in the war room came back to him. The awkward looks, the uncomfortable silences, the brief moments their eyes met and Cullen’s chest warmed with affection. The memory of first time they met, when Eli’s eyes were harrowed and afraid but so determined to close the rift spawning demons, squeezed his chest enough that he had to move away from where his lieutenants crowded him to breathe before he hyperventilated.   
  
The remaining Wardens and the majority of the Inquisition soldiers met in the courtyard of Adamant where the Tevinter Magister had opened the huge rift. Cullen stared into the green depths, wondering how in the Void they were going to close the thing without Evelyn and her anchor. Something sinister lurked on the other side, just out of eyeshot.  
  
Cullen closed his eyes and sent a prayer to the Maker. _Please help Evelyn, let her sit at your side, not trapped in the Fade with demons and nightmares. Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide._  
  
A wrenching sound, like reality itself was ripping apart, and a bright green light tore Cullen from his thoughts. He opened his eyes to see Varric fall out of the rift, covered in blood and gore. Sera followed, landing on her back, and Stroud fell after her. Dorian managed to land on his feet, which would have made Cullen snort in derision if he hadn’t been shocked into silence. His thoughts whirled as each new figure appeared.   
  
The few seconds before Evelyn followed were the longest in Cullen’s life. Every worst case scenario raced through his mind again, as they had for the past few hours, twisting his stomach into knots. He had resigned himself to never seeing her dark eyes, her crooked smile, her perfect face ever again, but maybe…   
  
Then, she fell. One hand held her ribs and the other hung awkwardly at her side, but she stood tall and victorious against the rift gaping open behind her.   
  
Cullen froze, unable to believe his eyes. She lifted her hand to close the rift, and Cullen’s heart started beating again, his breath expelled in a loud whoosh, the blood tingled in his fingers. _Thank the Maker_ , he whispered as a prayer.   
  
The strain was visible in her bruised face as she meted out her judgment to the Wardens, and as soon as the business had been dealt with, she collapsed. Cullen jerked forward with one step and an arm outraised before he realized her companions rushed to her side, and she needed no more assistance.   
  
Cassandra carried Evelyn to the healer’s tent, and Cullen followed as he felt an awful sense of deja vu. The indomitable Inquisitor lay pale and unmoving on the white cot, looking like she fought every demon in the Fade on her way out. Cullen had hoped never to see this sight again, and the memory of Eli looking similarly wounded after Haven overlaid itself on the reality of the moment.  
  
Cassandra and Sera shooed him out, and after he got over the irritation of being separated from Evelyn, he appreciated their gesture. He had a million new things to attend to with her return. The Wardens would join the Inquisition, and Cullen must begin making arrangements.  
  
Writing letters and giving orders distracted him for a time, but his mind kept returning to Evelyn. Falling out of the rift, looking bloody and battered but somehow still heroic and breathtaking and beautiful. Both versions of her floated in his mind’s eye, Eli nervous and uncertain and Evelyn resolute and haunted. He couldn’t separate them in his mind, and it worried him.   
  
Cullen threw down his quill and ran his fingers through his hair. Surely the way she invaded his every thought, keeping him from work, was a bad sign. He thought himself over this obsession, that he would be able to move on from his confusing feelings, that this confusing infatuation ended when Evelyn revealed her true self.   
  
Cullen looked up when Cassandra entered his tent. Her eyes moved from his lowered head to his messy desk. “If you would like to know, the Inquisitor is awake.” Cullen half-stood out of his chair before she even finished speaking, but froze as he realized what he was doing. He tried to play off the action by shuffling papers, but Cassandra’s snort let him know it didn’t work.   
  
“That’s excellent news.” Relief flooded through him and he placed his palms on the desk to keep him upright.   
  
Cassandra raised an imperious eyebrow at him. “Is that all? I expected more of a reaction. I’m surprised you haven’t run out to see her yet.”  
  
Cullen sat back down in his chair, keeping his palms flat on the desk. “Why would I do that.” It was not a question, and it did not need an answer.  
  
“Because you love her.”  
  
Cullen felt his face flush and he turned his head away. He grunted disbelievingly. “That’s ridiculous.”  
  
Cassandra stared at him silently until he met her eyes again. “Cullen. Look at yourself. You were half out of your mind when she disappeared, and you’ve been distracted since she came back.” She looked pointedly at his desk, strewn with crumpled up paper, half-written missives covered with ink stains, and scattered letters. The disarray on his usually pristine desk was unpleasantly reflective of his state of mind. “Not to mention, you have ink on your forehead right here.” She gestured to her hairline, and Cullen’s hands jerked up to touch where she indicated.   
  
He moved to the wash basin and started to clean his hands and face. “I was concerned for the leader of our movement. We would have been in a difficult position with the rift had she not returned. And I am…” He couldn’t find a way to justify his distraction here in the tent, so he just shook his head. He dried his hands, silent and reflective for a moment longer. He sat back at his desk and picked up his quill, as if any work would get done tonight.  
  
Cassandra folded her arms and her intense eyes stared holes into him. He squirmed at the scrutiny. “I was concerned. That’s all.”  
  
She snorted disbelievingly and threw her hands up. “Fine. In any case, she’s awake, and she’s asked for you.”  
  
Cullen froze. Cassandra exited the tent. He listened to the quiet rustling of the wind outside, the soft murmurs of nearby soldiers and loud shouts of those farther away still working, the low thud of his heartbeat and the rush of blood in his ears.  
  
He couldn’t deny it any longer. Cassandra was right, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He was in love with the Inquisitor. It had started when he thought her a man, and he didn’t want to confront the uncomfortable direction of his thoughts then. Now that she conformed to his idea of what he wanted in a partner, he should get over it, shouldn’t he?  
  
Cullen stood and began pacing around the tent with restless nerves. The fear of losing her to the Fade lanced through his chest again. If she asked for him, he must see her. He must tell her he can’t bear to lose her.  
  
He threw on his fur mantle to brave the cold outside between his tent and the healer’s.   
  
At the Inquisitor’s bedside sat Varric, despondent and miserable. Cullen nodded to him, acknowledging the loss of his friend to save them all.   
  
“Well Curly, about time you showed up.” Varric put on a brave face, the expression almost his usual smirk, but it lacked something. “The Boss here was about to get up and go find you, crack another rib if she had to.”  
  
Cullen finally looked at her. He became much more aware of the loud thump-thump-thump of his heart in his chest and the sweaty state of his palms. Her face had been cleaned of the blood, leaving only a few cuts and one purpling bruise on her cheekbone. She sat propped against the metal headboard with bandages wrapped around her chest and her shield arm in a sling. “I’m sure that would be inadvisable,” he said when his voice returned, and he finally met her eyes.  
  
She watched him reticently, but her fingers twisted in the sheets and her teeth left an indentation where they bit the inside of her lip. Cullen shifted on his feet and his hand grasped the air where his sword pommel usually sat.   
  
Varric’s eyes darted between the two of them for a few moments before he sighed dramatically. “I’ll give you two some space, since you obviously need it. I have to write some letters, anyway.” His voice dropped at the last few words and Cullen felt a pang of empathy, knowing Varric must write to the Champion’s brother and companions. Cullen clapped him on the shoulder and Varric’s face twisted in a grimace.   
  
The dwarf left the tent, and the humans stared at each other nervously.  
  
Evelyn’s free hand rose to grasp a lock of her hair. “Have you come to yell at me about something? Disappearing, getting trapped in the Fade, leaving Hawke behind…?”   
  
A stab of guilt hit Cullen in the chest. “Maker, no. Of course not.” He knelt at her side and gripped her hand in his larger ones. She was warm where he was chilled, and Cullen wanted to bring her hand to his lips to feel the texture of her skin. Her fingers had callouses proving her experience with a blade, and Cullen stroked the rough skin, relishing the feel of them below his. “I was so worried, I thought you’d never come back.”  
  
Evelyn’s throat worked as she swallowed, and her eyes dropped to the blanket covering her legs. “I thought so too.”  
  
Cullen squeezed her hand between his own. “I…” He cleared his throat and tried speaking again. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come back.”   
  
Evelyn looked up in confusion. “I’m sure you would have managed.” She weakly pulled her hand back, but Cullen gripped her tighter to keep them linked.   
  
He shook his head and took a deep breath. “I would have died with you, Evelyn. I… acted rashly after Haven. I trusted you and came to see you as a friend, as a… I was hurt that you didn’t trust me with your secret, and I’ve been childish holding it against you since then. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”  
  
Evelyn’s eyes searched his face, looking for the truth in his words. Her mouth opened to speak, but no sound came out. Cullen pressed on.  
  
“When I thought you were a man, I was… confused. I’ve never had feelings for another man, and it scared me.” Evelyn’s eyes widened and her cheeks began to redden. “When you were a woman, I didn’t… I couldn’t handle it. And I behaved abominably to you. I am so sorry.”  
  
Evelyn’s lower lip began to wobble, and she clenched her jaw against the emotion rising in her face. Cullen released one of his hands to brush her cheek and her eyelids fluttered. “Cullen,” she breathed.  
  
“Forgive me,” he whispered.  
  
She nodded and opened her eyes again. “I wanted to tell you. More than anyone, I felt so bad, but once everyone knew me as Eli I couldn’t just say, ‘oops I’ve been lying since I met you, I’m actually a woman.’” She pressed her hand to his where it caressed her cheek. “Especially when I had so many feelings for you.”  
  
Cullen exhaled shakily and rubbed his thumb over her cheek, gentling over the bruise and slowing over her soft full lips. “I am so glad you came back, that you lived through the Fade. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”  
  
Evelyn smiled, and Cullen watched the lines around her eyes crinkle. Her lips parted slightly and he leaned in to kiss her.  
  
Her lips moved under his and her hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. He shifted from where he knelt to sit on the cot, and kept his hands gentle where he touched her face and her waist, avoiding her injuries.  
  
They sat together, kissing or touching or resting, until the camp outside the tent quieted and all they could hear was their own breathing.   
  



End file.
